


How can you save a wilting rose?

by ValarMorghuliss



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-08 17:44:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValarMorghuliss/pseuds/ValarMorghuliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The inevitable AU about the Tyrells managing to fulfill their plan to take Sansa Stark from Kings Landing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Reach was so pretty and warm, like Sansa imagined. They rode along the grey cobbled path leading up to Highgarden and Margaery smiled at her. Sansa could almost imagine that they were in Winterfell, with the tall green pine trees, but then she remembered that she’d never see Winterfell again. Robb was a traitor and traitor’s sisters weren’t afforded kindnesses. The Reach wouldn’t be so bad, and even if it was like Kings Landing, there were towers to throw herself off and a river to wash her body away. Margaery promised that Sansa’s husband-to-be was kind, but she’d thought that about Joffrey once. Occasionally, she’d start to hate the warm that had forced her to wear one of Margaery’s revealing gowns and look in shame at the bruises that covered her arms. Joff had been angry that she was leaving that he was less careless about where he hit her and evidence of his rage showed through the sheer material of her bodice and crept around her face, no matter how she tried to hide it with her hair. The sweet little Tyrell cousins chattering with Margaery about the swimming that they’d do and how they’d pick pretty roses to take back to Kings Landing. They were pretty girls and Alla reminded her of Arya. Perhaps, if I please him, Willas might let me name my daughter Arya.  
The Highgarden castle was as beautiful as the gardens around it. It seemed strangely natural, as if the Gardener kings had grown their seat from the ground and the towers reached higher than most. Despite the beauty it was still strong, as the Tyrell seat was built at the edge where two steep valleys met and the climb to the gates was tiring and lengthy in the heat. Winterfell was surrounded by the Winter Town but on the ascent to Highgarden, there was just numerous villages scattered around the base of the valley until the space was taken by the exquisite gardens.  
“We’ve a godswood here Sansa, and a real weirwood heart tree. I know how you direct your devotions to the old gods and the new.” Margaery had been nothing but thoughtful during their journey and it made Sansa ashamed to think that she couldn’t smile as wide as the older girl.  
Sansa thanked her for her consideration but continued the rest of the journey in silence. This was to be her home, but why did she feel so out of place?  
She kept her head held high as they rode though the carved archway and tried to appear as strong as possible. She was a Stark of Winterfell and she was determined to remind the Tyrells that they could wrap her in their cloak and colours but she was from the North. The Tyrell siblings were the first off their horses. Loras had accompanied Margaery and they were both obviously excited to see their eldest brother.  
Willas was very handsome with a smile, although he may not be so comely with a scowl. He had the Tyrell curls, but whilst Loras’ were allowed to grow long, Willas kept his carefully cropped, so that none of his hair spilled past his collar. His eyes were kind, like Margaery and Loras’ but they didn’t have any of the happiness of her brother Robb’s eyes. Besides, she once thought Joffrey had beautiful eyes. He dressed less extravagantly than his family but he’d obviously made an effort to welcome her to Highgarden. His cane was almost unnoticeable, but it was carved so beautifully, like Sansa’s favourite chair in Winterfell. When he looked at her, she wished that she hadn’t allowed Margaery to braid her hair back from her face, because it revealed the bruises that still weren’t going away. He looked at her with confusion on his face as she clambered down from her big high horse. What if he didn’t want her? Or he didn’t find her comely enough and would send her back to Kings Landing?  
Still, he kept himself composed and bent to kiss her hand.  
“Lady Sansa, I hope that you find Highgarden to your liking. I’m afraid that it isn’t to it’s best advantage, now that winter is coming, but you Starks know best about that” he said in his rich, deep voice that reminded her so much of the men from home, with a slight grin, although he was obviously as uncomfortable as he.  
“It is very refreshing to be out of the capital, Lord Willas and Highgarden is a welcome change, despite the season” she tried to return his smile and failed. She couldn’t help but tremble when he touched her, and couldn’t meet his eyes. He carefully dropped her hand.  
“I can see that you wish to settle in and perhaps require some time alone. Margaery offered to show you to your rooms. They’re not as fine as you deserve but they’re only until the wedding” he saw her flinch when he mentioned the wedding “I’ll see you at dinner and perhaps we might take a turn about the gardens”  
“I’ll look forward to it, my lord” Sansa replied, as courteously as she could.  
Her husband-to-be bowed the best he could with his leg and walked slowly to talk with his brother. His walk was shuffled and looked painful, but he was obviously too proud to show any discomfort.

Lord Willas had drastically under-exaggerated her rooms. They were much more luxurious than those in Kings Landing and gave a magnificent view across the river Mander. Margaery wanted to stay to help her unpack but the Tyrell cousins made her promise to go into the gardens with them, so she bade Sansa farewell until dinner. “I promise that I’ll save a seat for you. Then we can introduce you to more of the family. I’m sure that you’ll like it here. Willas is kind and he will never try to hurt you” Margaery pressed a kiss to her cheek and left in a cloud of smiles and rose-scented perfume.  
Sansa was left alone then, sat on her little balcony, listening to the river. Was her mother by a river? Did she know that she was to marry? And did Robb? Did he care? She remembered playing when they were young, and she was always the princess and Robb always saved her from Theon who liked to be a warrior or a kraken. He’d always said that he’d save her from anything, but now he was a king and she was a hostage, ready to be married to the enemy. Robb was right in leaving her. She was a liar and not fit for the name Stark, even if they were the only ones left. She knew why the Tyrells wanted her; her sons would be heir to Winterfell, although Robb would soon marry his Frey and give her sons aplenty to replace the fallen Starks.  
She wept as she started sewing her maidens cloak. She’d had the fabrics picked out since she was small and always imagined sewing it with mother. If only mother was here, to whisper some words of comfort and to stroke her hair, then perhaps she could do it. But she was alone and would likely never see her mother again, unless Robb bent the knee. Part of her wished that a knight would see her weep and rescue her from her fate, but her lessons from Kings Landing echoed through her head. There are no true knights.  
When the light began to dim and the laughter from the gardens ceased, Sansa rose to dress for dinner. She washed the tears from her face and brushed her hair through. Her maid hadn’t come with her from Kings Landing, mostly because she was under the employ of the queen and the Tyrells had yet to find her replacement. Her dresses weren’t complicated, and she planned to wear her hair in the northern style. There were plenty of scents that had been gifted to her by Margaery and she chose one that reminded her of jasmine and freesias.  
She didn’t take long to dress and rather than sit in her room, she chose to take a walk through the small garden under her balcony. The steps were slightly cracked, so she took off her heeled shoes and gathered her gown in her fists. The wind had picked up, so it gently teased her hair away from its braids but she didn’t care. The wind was warm and the grass was soft and for a few moments, she felt like she was in her imaginary south, the one she’d idealised as a girl and dreamt of. As she studied the unfamiliar blooms and sat on her heels to see the pretty little flowers underneath the rosebushes, she felt as if like Arya was ready to burst in through the door and make fun of her for crying and that Jeyne would come to share some gossip with her. Instead, it was a page in green livery that had come to tell her that dinner was ready to be served.  
She felt guilty, that she’d made them wait. She hurried through her chambers and the labyrinthine hallways until she found the intimate chamber that served the Tyrell’s as a private dining room. Most were there already, but not all. Margaery gestured to one of the two empty seats beside her.  
“Sansa! I’m so sorry I couldn’t have shown you Highgarden, but I’m sure Willas will show you some tonight. Besides, I’d already made a promise and Tyrells never break promises” Margaery winked at the younger girls.  
“You mustn’t be sorry. I needed to prepare for my… wedding and I wouldn’t keep you from your family” mentioning the wedding made Sansa nervous.  
“We’ll be family soon” replied Margaery, squeezing Sansa’s hand.  
Margaery still had Sansa’s hand when Willas walked in, with his brother Garlan slowing to match his pace. He would not meet Sansa’s eye but kissed Margaery on his cheek. Willas took the only seat left, next to Sansa and she saw Garlan wink at Margaery. So this was a cleverly crafted plan to get them to talk to each other.  
“Good evening, Lady Sansa. I trust that you’ve settled in well?” Willas was not unkind, but disinterested in his tone.  
“I have very well, thank you, my lord. I didn’t have many belongings to bring from Kings Landing so the unpacking wasn’t long at least.  
“It is fortunate then, since that after the wedding, it is planned that we’ll move into a shared suite at the other end of the castle. It wouldn’t do to have to pack and unpack again”  
He didn’t sound angry, but perhaps he wouldn’t want to make a scene in front of his brothers and sister.  
“I’m so sorry my lord. I hadn’t known. I shall begin unpacking tonight, if it please you” she tried her best in her apology but he only frowned.  
“You needn’t worry. You’ll have a handmaiden by the end of tomorrow” said Margaery, cheerfully.  
Sansa smiled weakly and stared down at her empty plate. It had carved roses around the edges that matched the crockery and the tablecloth. Sansa concentrated on tracing the patterns with her finger whilst Willas and Garlan whispered together.  
The food was served when Lord and Lady Tyrell took their place at the head of the table. The main course was trout, with various vegetables. Her mother was a Tully, and their sigil was a trout. She decided to push the fish as far to the edge of her plate.  
“Do you not have a taste for fish, Lady Sansa?” Willas ventured softly  
“My mother is of House Tully, who’s sigil is a trout”  
“Oh Sansa, we should’ve known! How inconsiderate of us. We can ask for something else, if you’d like?” Margaery cried, sharing a knowing look with Willas.  
“No. Thank you. I don’t have much appetite tonight and I’ve always been fond of dessert. I thank you for your consideration.” Sansa said, looking at her plate. She’d offended them. It was rude to refuse food from a host, especially when she was more of a burden than the Tyrells let on. She went to cut into her trout, when a strong hand stopped her wrist.  
“Please, my lady. Do not think you have caused us offence. You needn’t eat it. We understand” Willas was kinder than he needed to be. Sansa had offended and displeased him. If she’d refused anything Joffrey had given her, he’d have broken her lips and forced her to eat it with blood dribbling into her mouth.  
He took her fork and placed it upon the embroidered napkin.  
“Our cook’s bread is simply delicious and it may still be warm” Willas reached for a bread roll and gave it to her. “I’d hate for you to be hungry on our walk later” he explained.  
She tried to be as quiet as possible during the rest of the meal. The dessert was delicious, sweet apples in pastry dusted with sugar. The Tyrells let the conversation flow freely, but Sansa stayed silent, sipping her wine cautiously and never straying far from her water jug. Men hated drunken wives.  
Lord Tyrell turned the conversation to the Vale and Lady Lysa, wondering if she’d be at Riverrun for her father’s funeral. The Lord of Riverrun was her grandfather. If he’d died in battle, Robb may have been injured. Her head snapped up. She was about to speak when Willas interjected.  
“Father, if you’d be so good to leave such conversation away from the table, especially one involving the family of our honoured guest and my betrothed”  
Lord Tyrell blushed red.  
“Yes. I’m sorry, Lady Sansa. That was very inconsiderate of me. If you wish for any news from the riverlands, you only have to ask”  
“Thank you for your offer Lord Tyrell”  
Her eyes shifted to a spot on the ceiling where she could pretend that all the Tyrells weren’t staring at her.  
“My lady Sansa, I’d be very honoured if you’d allow me to accompany you around the gardens” Willas pushed himself to his feet, heavily relying on his cane. She gently took his hand and rose as elegantly as she could with most of House Tyrell looking on. He led her through the hallways until the reached some great marble steps leading down to Mander. This was the complete opposite end of the castle to her rooms but orchards and rock gardens ran all across Highgarden, connected with archways and bridges.  
As they slowed their pace, he offered her his arm. When she took it, she could feel that there was muscle there. He was stronger than Joff and that frightened her.  
“Please forgive that disaster of a dinner, my lady. It was highly inappropriate and inconsiderate”  
“There is nothing to forgive, my lord. Lord Tully was a traitor lord and so are Lord Edmure and my mother and brother. Those that love traitors must be traitors.”  
“Do you believe that, Lady Sansa?”  
“I have to, my lord”  
He paused and looked at her thoughtfully. She hoped that she hadn’t displeased him.  
“I would ask that you call me Willas, at least in private. May I call you Sansa? It will make our marriage a whole lot less awkward”  
“You may call me what you wish. Willas”  
They walked in silence for a long while.  
“I think you can like it here Sansa. It will never be home-“  
“It will never be Winterfell. Winterfell is lost to me. It's gates have been shut ever since they put that traitors crown on my brother"  
“But Winterfell is still your home, like Highgarden is mine. It can be lovely here, even in winter. You’re here for the foreseeable future, because we shall wed and I intend to make you as happy as a wife can be”  
“You’re very kind. I hope that I will be pleasing to you as a wife”  
Willas sighed quietly.  
Sansa’s spine went rigid.  
“I wish that you told me how you felt. Truthfully” he turned and looked her in the eyes.  
“I can’t. I can’t force you to live with a treasonous wife, when you’ve been so kind, giving me shelter. I would rest now, for the day has been tiring and it appears I have a grandfather to mourn”  
They walked back together and he kissed her hand when he bade her farewell. That night, in the great oaken bed with green hangings, she wept harder than she ever remembered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief interlude of peace before the chaos of a wedding.

Willas  
Margaery wasn’t wrong. His betrothed was beautiful, but her blue eyes would trap him so much more if there were no tears threatened to spill from them at any given moment. He didn’t know how to react when he watched her ride into Highgarden with bruises on her arms and cuts on her face. They’d warned him that they weren’t kind to her in Kings Landing but he never expected to find open sores on the shoulders of a young girl. She was so scared of him, so scared of displeasing him and he hated it. He hated that he terrified a young girl so much that she couldn’t bear to tell him anything but lies.  
The dinner was terrible. They’d fed her a trout, her own lady mother’s sigil. Margaery wrote that the king enjoying tormenting Sansa by feeding her trout on red and blue plates and boasting of how he’d present her brother’s head to her on a silver platter. He never wanted her to think that the Tyrells were in on the joke, but technically they were. Ever since the Lannister alliance, they vowed to defeat Starks and Tullys.  
She was so young and so broken. He’d watched her fall apart when he was doing his traditional walk around the grounds. He peered through the stone archway leading to her rooms and saw her weep. Willas knew how to fix broken things. When Loras ruined a horse, he’d gave it to Willas and in half a year, it would be as if Loras had never ruin it in some damned tourney. He understood horses, but not the northern girl.  
At the breakfast table, she sat awkwardly, as if she was at a formal feast instead of an intimate breakfast. She paid every courtesy but sat in silence. It was only Sansa, Garlan and Willas at the table and she listened attentively as Garlan regaled her with tales of the Reach and its customs. When it came to marriage customs, Sansa became melancholy, especially when they mentioned how the bride breakfasted with her family. The men were dressed for summer, in thin tunics and breeches, but she was in a strange dress with a higher neckline that Margaery’s, which showed the tops of her shoulders and accentuated her small waist. She looked hot and uncomfortable but continued to nibble at her pomegranate seeds and blueberries in silence. Willas raised an eyebrow at Garlan.  
“Aren’t you rather hot, Lady Sansa” Garlan asked her politely “wouldn’t you be more comfortable in another dress?”  
“It’s just the climate change. Besides, I haven’t many other gowns and I’ve developed a strong dislike for the ones from Kings Landing. This is one of the few that still fit me from Winterfell, Lord Garlan”  
“I’m sure Margaery and my wife Leonette could spare some gowns more suited to the weather of the Reach, until you have some made?”  
“I’d hate to cause an inconvenience to any of the ladies and I’m far taller than Lady Margaery. I can make do until the…”  
“wedding?” Garlan offered.  
Sansa nodded and went back to her fruits.  
Garlan looked at Willas with pity in his eyes, which made him angry. Sansa didn’t need to be pitied and ultimately left to suffer; she needed to be helped back onto her feet.  
“Lady Sansa, would you like to accompany me to the stables? I have a gift to you that I thought to present on our wedding day, but there seems to be little time on the day”  
“I’d be delighted, my lord.” She rose gracefully and bid Garlan farewell before she took his offered arm. They walked faster today as his leg was hurting less, but there was still the dull throbbing that never seemed to go away. The maester had allowed him to remove his brace, as long as he wasn’t going to be too active. He still prayed to get better, he hated the idea of not being able to play properly with his children and having to hobble around on a ruined leg.  
He’d chosen Sansa’s horse carefully although he knew nothing of Sansa, except what Margaery had said. The mare had a shiny red coat, which Willas thought would be like Sansa’s but hers was richer, and more of a golden red. There was tack for her too, embroidered with red roses and silver wolves. She gasped when she saw her gift standing in its stable, with the saddle and reins hung on the rack nearby.  
“I would prepare her for riding, my lady, but I cannot go out today, because of my leg and there is no one else to accompany you”  
Sansa slowly walked towards the beast, and stroked her nose gently.  
“She is beautiful, my lord. Does she have a name?”  
“Loras thought to name her Duty, when she was a foal. He’d only just grasped chivalry and his favourite words where honour, duty and gallant”  
It was only then that he realised his mistake. Honour and duty where two parts of the three-piece Tully motto, that Lady Catelyn must’ve brought her daughter up to live by. Except that there was no family.  
“It reminds me of when I was a girl. Mother lecturing me on duty, father giving lessons on honour and Robb teaching himself to be gallant” she almost began to smile, albeit with a hint of melancholy. “Until they all turned traitor”   
They remained for a moment of awkward silence.  
“Would you like me to show you how to do the tiny braids that Margaery’s horse has?” Willas asked, after a while. She nodded and he took out some of the little white ribbons.  
They talked for a while, about wild little Arya that rode as soon as she could walk and visits from Uncle Benjen who always brought some silly little wolf carving. Willas talked about Highgarden and the Hightower and the time Uncle Baelor dared him to swim naked in the bay. He even told her about the tilt, but left out the pain and the year after, where Garlan sat by his bedside every day to stop them cutting off his leg.   
“My brother Bran, he can no longer walk. He fell. A long time ago”  
“Bran? Named for your uncle Brandon I suppose.”  
“Yes, although there are few Stark names and they seem to be recycled every few generations. It rather confusing in the history books, where there is an abundance of Brandons, Rickards, Eddards and Torrhens”  
“I like the name Rickard. At least you are not a Frey, where Walders crop up all over their damp little castle”  
They laughed nervously. Again, he remembered too late that her brother was to marry a Frey.   
Their conversation was interrupted by a young stable hand.  
“Sorry m’lord, m’lady but the horses need to be turned out and-“  
“We understand” he offered Sansa his arm.   
They walked for significantly longer than the night before, in and out of the countless rose gardens, stopping every so often because Sansa wanted to remark on a new variation or colour. Highgarden was quiet, although they occasionally heard shrieks of laughter from the river or the hum of older ladies gossiping amongst the bushes. He felt a sense of pride about his home, and although he felt more at home in Oldtown, he felt a swell of self-importance when he recounted the history of an outbuilding or the full name for a flower to Sansa.  
“I’m told you have blue roses, in the north. We’ve tried to grow them here but so far we’ve only managed a very faint purple”  
“They only grow in the cold, and I’m afraid the Reach is far too temperate for them. Although, you have such beautiful pinks and reds that wouldn’t survive north of the neck.”  
“I’m afraid that one grows weary of delicate pinks after a while, Lady Sansa” he said, with a grin.  
“I suppose so, although it’s a lot better than the stench of Kings Landing”  
“I’ve only been only once”  
“It’s a terrible place”  
Willas saw the look on her face when she thought of Kings Landing and wanted to kill every Lannister that dared to lay a hand on her. At least when they wed and she was Sansa Tyrell, every sword in the Reach would be honour-bound to come between her and King Joffrey.   
“About the wedding” she began. “I understand that it will be quiet, but do you think we might forego the breakfast traditions…”  
“Hardly small. Grandmother has sent ravens to every lord in the Reach within three days ride and there is to be a tourney. A small tourney, but a tourney with a joust and a melee. And perhaps, some of the women from House Tyrell will breakfast with you, although it will break tradition.”  
“Thank you, my lord. I’m rather looking forward to the tourney. I’ve only been to a few, most of which we had when we travelled south to visit family, but I remember the tourney of the hand and the first time I saw your brother ride.”  
“I’m sure Loras will ride again. He may even ask for your favour, as I cannot.”  
“There is no shame in not competing in tourneys. My father never did, neither does my brother”  
“And from what I gather from the Lannister war meetings, your brother is rather competent on the battlefield.”  
“Yes. I used to pray for him every day to ride into Kings Landing and rescue me like some lady in a song, but he turned west instead.” She stood quietly for a while, gasping her hand across her mouth. “I am sorry, my lord. I shouldn’t say such things. My brother is a traitor and the only time he would come to Kings Landing is as a corpse.”  
Willas took her hand and squeezed it.  
“Don’t worry about what you say around me, my lady. We were traitors too remember. Perhaps if I was the head of House Tyrell, I wouldn’t have allied with the Lannisters, but father wants Margaery to be queen.”  
“I will corrupt you with my treason, as I corrupted Jeyne and…”  
Willas shushed her and abrupted lead her inside. The poor girl was in hysterics and obviously couldn’t talk of her ordeal much further. They were to marry in two days, and yet he didn’t know anything more about her than that she liked lemon cakes and pretty songs.


	3. Chapter 3

On the morning of Sansa’s wedding, she was woken to excited giggling from the Tyrell cousins perched at the end of her bed.  
“Sansa! Sansa! It’s today!” beamed Megga excitedly while Alla and Elinor were busy rooting through her jewellery drawers to find something to go with the dress that was delivered yesterday.  
“Now girls, don’t you think you should give Sansa some room to breathe and choose her own necklaces. It is to be her wedding day after all.” Cooed Margaery, as if she was addressing her own daughters. Margaery gave her a warm smile.  
“I’ll send for a bath” she said, as she picked up her intricate green brocade skirts and swept out the room.  
Megga almost dragged her out of bed and towards the dressing table, hanging onto her arm like Rickon used to when he had something to show her.  
“Cousin Sansa, will you let us help you get ready? Only the bride’s sisters and mother normally do it but Margaery says-“ Alla asked, as she started brushing Sansa’s hair with the beautiful comb that her father bought back in Kings Landing.  
“Alla!” Elinor chided.  
“Of course Alla. I’d love for you to help me. Perhaps you could do the braids that you were practising on Megga yesterday? They remind me of the way my mother used to wear her hair in the summers at Winterfell”  
Alla beamed at her and nodded excitedly. Sansa returned her smile. She thought that she would be alone in the morning, with only the new handmaid to keep her company. It wasn’t unlike northern weddings, where the female family members of the groom joined with the bride. It wasn’t the wedding she dreamed of when she was a young girl, with countless adoring ladies and a childhood sweetheart ready to wrap her in his cloak, but it was the wedding that would take place and mark her a Tyrell forever, away from the hands of Joffrey and Cersei with their plots and schemes.  
The cousins stayed when Margaery returned with the curved copper tub and buckets of scented, steaming water. Whilst it was filled, Alla picked out the perfumes to mix with the bathwater.  
“There’s a tub in your new set of rooms built into the floor. It’s much larger too” Margaery said, sat on the edge of Sansa’s bed with Megga.  
They all averted their eyes when Sansa climbed out of her crisp linen shift, and only looked again when she was settled amongst the rose-scented bubbles. They covered the worst of her scars, for which she was grateful. The tips of her hair trailed into the water, until she leant back, submerging the whole of her head. As the handmaid began to work the lather through her hair, the cousins began to sing a silly girls song about weddings, whilst braiding each other’s hair into what appeared to be the latest style. Sansa sat in the tub until the water began to cool and the skin on her arms began to develop goosebumps. After towelling herself dry and wrapping herself in one of the robes that passed for a dress back in Winterfell when she didn’t feel like going anywhere, she sat at the mirror while Elinor and Margaery worked their combs through the wet auburn mop. It couldn’t have been past eight, but already sounds were coming from the sept and the tourney ground in preparation for the coming festivities. The sun streamed through the windows, bathing everyone in a bright white light.  
Eventually, the girls managed to pull every tangle and knot out of Sansa’s hair and brush it until it was half-dry with a slight curl. Sansa sat mournfully for a while, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The bruises had faded, but they were still there. There was yellowing around her eyes and all along her arms where patches of black and blue, with criss-crosses of red scars roaming her upper-body and legs like a map. After Elinor had combed in the rose-oil that she’d gifted to Sansa, they all took their leave for breakfast with the other Tyrells, almost reluctant to follow the page that had been dispatched to collect them. She sat for a while in silence, tugged her robe around her to fully cover her shoulders. She’d grown a lot since leaving the north, and she had barely any clothes that accommodated her extra mass.  
After ten or so minutes, there was an abrupt knock at the door. Sansa assumed that it was her breakfast being delivered so she went to answer the door. She was rather shocked to discover that her visitor was the man that she’d call brother after saying a few words in a sept.  
“Lady Sansa, would you follow me? It’s rather difficult to explain, and I’d rather let you see for yourself” Garlan said politely.  
She took his arm and he lead her through the corridors to a sheltered area surrounded by trees that appeared to be the spot of many secrets. There was a stone floor with carvings that was littered with leaves. It was slightly raised, as Sansa and Garlan had to climb a set of stairs. The pathway was enclosed by birch trees and a few blue flowers that sprung up around Highgarden like weeds.  
In the centre of the circular hideaway, was a table, set for two with one seat empty and laden with food. Garlan bade farewell and when she turned to face the occupant of the table, a shocked gasp escaped her lips. Facing her was a man with greying hair and her mother’s eyes and a clock fastened with a black fish.  
“Gods girl, you look just like you mother” said the man, who could only be her mother’s uncle, Brynden Tully. He rose, kissing her fingers before pulling her into an embrace that reminded her of father and Robb and uncle Benjen. He helped her into her seat, as if she was six, like the last time they’d met.  
“How can you be here? The Lannisters. If they find out-“  
“We needn’t worry about them, sweet Sansa. Our friends of Tyrell will see to it”  
“Did Robb send you to come? Did he hear about the betrothal?”  
“He did. He would’ve come himself, if he wasn’t needed in the west. The original idea was that I’d bring you back to your mother. Give the Tyrells some gold to say that you’d be stolen on the road. Until we received a very interesting raven. It seems we have an alliance of sorts with our favourite roses”  
“So my marriage will bring honour to my house? By doing this I’ll be helping Robb?”  
Brynden looked at her thoughtfully.  
“Yes. Although your mother was quite against it”  
“My mother?”  
“She wanted to come with me, until my nephew convinced her that we’d never reach Highgarden in time for your wedding. She sends her love however, along with gifts and a letter.”  
He placed a bundle on the table, with a large roll of parchment sticking out the top. She took the parchment and placed it in one of her overlarge pockets, saving it for one night where the homesickness became too much to bear. Inside the bundle was a cloak, with a direwolf stitched on it in pearls and silver thread.  
“My mother wore this on her wedding day. She showed it to me when I was young and my septa first told me what marriage was”  
“She wanted you to have it, so you would at least enter that sept a Stark and a princess. Your kingly brother sent a crown for you, as befits a princess of the north”  
“Princess?”  
Brynden nodded. She hadn’t thought of that before. A sister to a king was allowed the title of princess.  
“Why did they let you come? The Tyrells are with the Lannisters”  
“The Tyrells, sweet niece, will be with the Lannisters as long as it suits them. They’ll put their Margaery’s heir on the throne and rule, and when they do, they’ll need friends in the north”  
“So my marriage… it isn’t for nothing. I’m helping Robb. Doing my duty”  
Brynden studied her carefully.  
“Family, Duty, Honour, sweet Sansa. Family always comes first, but there will be times when duty and honour must take precedence. We wanted to march on Kings Landing. Cat wanted to raise the dragons from stone and ride into Kings Landing to snatch you from the Lannister bitch, but there is a betrothal between you and Lord Willas that has been agreed upon by both sides, and an alliance that is your duty and honour. An alliance that may win us this war, so that you’re no longer a prisoner.”  
“I don’t understand? The Tyrells are breaking with the West?”  
“No, but when they do, Edmure will find himself with a Tyrell bride and they shall have friendship with the kingdom of the north and the riverlands. Perhaps the Vale too, if Lysa manages to make her mind up. Until then, there shall be no bloodshed between Stark, Tully and Tyrell forces.”  
After that, Sansa knew. She knew that she was a bargaining tool again, to win another alliance. A large part of her didn’t care, she’d marry a million men if it meant life for her house and family, but another part wondered how men could treat a princess like this. She was a daughter of the First Men, sister to kings and princess of the rough harsh north full of ice and wolves, not a bargaining chip to bear the children of a flowery southern lord until her body gave up and she died, to be buried in a grave covered in roses and become part of the shrubbery.  
“I will never see home again, will I?”  
“Not for a long time, until this war is won and there is peace.”  
“When will that be? Am I to rot in some flowered tower like a helpless maid from the songs to bear Tyrell children until my gallant brother saves me?”  
“Sansa…”  
“Please Ser, I’ve been praying for my family’s safety every day and I’m glad that I can help. I’ll go to his bed willingly and be a good wife like my mother taught me, but I will never forgive Robb for leaving me here. I’ll never forgive him and whilst I’ll be a dutiful sister and subject, I will never for one moment forget this, when he sold me for an alliance”  
They sat, Brynden staring at her with disbelief and Sansa gripping to edge of her seat, trying to grab hold of the conflicting parts of her and force them back together.  
“I remember when your mother married. She married your father, a man she hadn’t met as a price for Hoster’s army. Your aunt too, joined to a man three times her age to win a war. It isn’t fair. If I could, I would fight every man here for you and carry you home to your mother, but I am constantly reminded that my duty to my grand-niece is overweighed by my duty to my liegelord and king.”  
Duty. That word again. Duty to your king, duty to your brother, duty to your house, duty to your betrothed, duty to your father.  
“Duty will be the death of us”  
“Aye, it will. But I’d rather die for duty than die a craven. His Grace is doing his duty to his realm by arranging a suitable marriage and alliance for his sister, and he chose that over duty to his mother and sister. He is a Stark, and he doesn’t have to live by Family Duty Honour”  
“Winter Is Coming”  
Winter Is Coming, although she wasn’t a brave warrior from the north with a gruff enough voice to shout those words when she rode into her battles. Family Duty Honour, although she was born with Tully looks and a sense of Tully duty, she was a Stark and could lay no claim to those words. Ours Is the Fury, would’ve been her words although she was sure Joffrey preferred to live by Hear Me Roar. She had to fury or vanity left, so they would never have been uttered by her lips. Growing Strong, could she grow strong? They could drape her in green and gold but she would never grow strong in the overlarge flowerpatch of Highgarden.  
“Yes, I suppose you Starks are always right in the end”  
He smiled at her and their conversation ran into things that were hardly remarkable. He told her of mother and Robb, and the victories in the West. Sansa’s heart swelled with pride to hear that Cersei Lannister’s homeland was burnt, just like her mothers.  
“I remember when you were a girl, and you visited Riverrun with your mother. Such a little lady. Hoster said that you were just like Cat, and Edmure thought that you were going to stay forever and be his sister. We wanted to foster you, but your father said no. You’ve grown into the fairest princess in the realm and it’s so wrong that you can’t have your family here on your wedding day. But, there was another reason I was sent. Would you do me the honour of allowing me to escort you to the altar, my princess?”  
Of course, Sansa said yes, and she almost burst into tear when she did. She kept clutching onto the maiden’s cloak thought the breakfast, thinking to herself that she might have part of the wedding she’d dreamed of.

Before she had to hurry off to dress, they arranged to meet at the sept after the guests had taken their places to make their entrance. As she walked back to her rooms, she had to lean again the wall to stop herself from being overcome with tears. They hadn’t forgotten her, and she had letters from them all, even baby Rickon. She would go to her husband with a happy and dutiful heart if it meant that her brother would have one less army to fight.  
The cousins were in her room again, with their cosmetics spread across her dressing table. The dress had been delivered in her absence, a great thing with excessive skirts and a neckline just like Margaery’s, which showed off almost all of her chest. It was white and gold brocade, combining the colours of both of her houses, with gold detailing around the waist and gold plating on the shoulders, almost like armour, like a battle dress. When she put the gown on, it fit perfectly around her middle and the skirts swished around her legs like satin clouds. There were no sleeves, leaving her arms exposed. There was jewellery next. Mother hadn’t allowed her to pierce her ears, so Megga’s gift of gigantic emerald earrings had to be passed on to an excited Eleanor.  
There was a golden rose pendant, and silver wolves for her wrists. At the top of her arms, there were bands of spun gold that swirled down her biceps like the vines that wrapped themselves around Highgarden. Her brother had given her a hairnet with white gemstones as part of her gift, so Alla fixed the top of her hair into it, leaving the bottom half down, with little braids criss-crossing through it like streams of red-gold. At the very top was the tiara, made of white gold with red, white and blue gems arranged in the shape of wolves and flamboyant curved edges. It was larger than Cersei’s crown, and a different style. There was only decoration around the crown of her hair, and the rest was a simple band. It weighed heavily on her, but it made her stand taller, like a northern princess. The perfume was rosey, although it had an aroma of spice and lillies mixed deep inside.  
The girls had arranged themselves in Tyrell green, although they sported white sleeves in respect of the bride.  
“We’ve been working on the cloak for weeks, even before the properly announced the betrothal” gushed Alla “It’s so beautiful, green velvet and gold thread with emeralds! It’ll look so beautiful with your hair”  
She cooed when Sansa pulled out the cloak given to her at breakfast. It was made for mother’s wedding to Uncle Brandon, but was instead wrapped around her shoulders by her father, Lord Eddard. She could admit, it was impressive. The white silk was embedded with pearls and gemstones that matched the ones in her hair. The wolf was snarling, grey and wicked with dark blue eyes and sharp claws as it stood rampant against the white field. It was sewn in silver thread, with sapphires for the eyes and rubies for the mouth, grey diamonds worked into the body of the wolf. She stroked it gently, running her fingers down the back of its legs.  
“Have you ever seen a direwolf Sansa?” asked Megga.  
“I had one as a pet. She was called Lady and she was the most gentlest thing in the world.”  
“What happened to her?”  
“Queen Cersei demanded her killed. My father did it, because that’s how things are in the north”  
“How horrible!”  
“Yes Megga, and I’m sure Sansa doesn’t want to talk about it on her wedding day” chided Margaery.  
Megga apologised and Sansa waved it away.  
“No spoiling of MY wedding” teased Sansa.  
“Speaking of weddings, we ought to leave, they’ll be expecting us.” Said Margaery to the other girls. “I’m sure you know where the sept is, grandmother wouldn’t allow us to accompany you” she added to Sansa apologetically.  
And so the Tyrell girls set off in a wave of silks and satins and perfume to attend the groom and his parents. Sansa waited for a moment, before setting off in a similar direction, the white cloak slung across her.  
True to his word, the Blackfish was waiting for her at the foot of the steps into the sept. He was dressed in his house colours, with the Tully trout quartered with the Stark direwolf on his cloak. He looked neater than before, like a proper southern lord.  
“You look beautiful. Cat would be so proud of you, sweet Sansa” he breathed as he kissed her cheeks.  
When he wrapped the cloak around her shoulders, it hung straight from her shoulders, leaving her chest and neck bare. It was almost longer than her dress, but the train of her gown swept a few inches longer. He offered her his arm, patting her hand when she laid it in the crook of his arm. One reassuring smile and he motioned for the doors to be opened by the page clad in green and gold.  
“The bride, Princess Sansa Stark, daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn of the houses Tully and Stark, sister to Robb, the King in the North and Trident, lord of Winterfell. Accompanied by Ser Brynden Tully, Hand of the King in the North” there were very few guests, the ones that could be trusted to keep her great-uncles visit a secret. More would arrive for the celebrations, but the small crowd gasped when she walked down the aisle. The benches were intertwined with garlands and there were rose petals scattered along the floor.  
The bride’s side of the sept was empty, except for sweet Margaery, Elinor, Megga and Alla who smiled when she swept past. The Tyrell side was full, as none of the guests wanted to be affiliated with the Starks. She saw the Hightower banner, the Tarly huntsman and Redwyne grapes, along with the green apple of Fossoway. Along her wall, there was the Stark direwolf and the Tully trout. They’d attempted to fill it with the Karstark sunburst and the twin towers of Frey, as there was to be a Frey Queen.  
Willas stood with his back to her, facing the septon. Garlan and Loras were next to him, as brothers should and between them was the cloak. As she neared the altar, Brynden gave her hand a squeeze before turning to give Willas his scariest look. They both knelt as the ceremony began.  
“You may cloak the bride and bring her under your protection” said the septon, in his ceremonious voice.  
In a flash, the white silk was removed and replaced with green velvet. Where the silk was heavy and protective, the velvet was stifling and made her hot. The kiss came next.  
“With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lord and husband”  
“With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lady and wife”  
And they kissed. It was more passionate than she imagined, and his lips lingered for a long while, but Sansa felt little fire in his soft lips. Although, there was a little flutter in the pit of her stomach that bit again when they joined hands.  
“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, I am his and he is mine, from this day to the end of days” she said in chorus with Wilas.  
With that the septon pronounced them wed and placed the light of the crystal upon them.  
“Here in the sight of gods and men…I do solemnly proclaim Willas of House Tyrell and Sansa of House Stark to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them.”  
The ceremony was over, and Willas lead Sansa down the aisle. His grip was firm and assertive, although his main strength was focused on grasping the ornately carved cane. Sansa entered the sept a princess and a Stark, and left it Lady Tyrell. She saw Brynden sneak out the back door to the sept, knowing that he’d be leaving for Riverrun and her lady mother. She wished she could’ve said goodbye, but she didn’t know what she would’ve said.  
“I trust our little surprise pleased you Sansa?” asked her husband in his deep voice. She nodded and turned to Margaery, who came to give a hug to her new sister.  
“We have such a tourney planned! All the best nights in the Reach with singers and dancers and a massive feast. All for you!” she gushed, kissing her brother on both cheeks. “We ought to hurry if we’re to be seated comfortably for the parade!”  
She grabbed Sansa’s hand and pulled her though the courtyard that leads to the tourney grounds. On the dais were a collection of chairs, with the ones in the centre obviously intended for her and Willas. They were more luxurious than the others, with better cushions and fully shaded. Sansa took her place and poured herself a cup of wine from the nearby flagon and nibbled on the grapes, knowing that a large feast was to come.  
When her husband took his place beside her, he said little, choosing to engage in conversation with his uncle, Ser Humfrey Hightower. She’d been bombarded by Tyrell cousins, who asked the most insolent questions. The rest of the morning went slowly, gossiping with ladies whom she’d never met before until the joust began at mid-day. Before he went to mount his horse, Loras gallantly took a knee in front of her.  
“Sweet sister, would you honour me with your favour? I’m afraid you can’t give it to your husband and it would look most pretty tied around my armour” he said, with a mischievous grin. Willas scowled beside her, but everyone else smiled. She unlaced one of the ribbons in her hair and tied it around his armour in a neat bow.  
He did her proud, unhorsing almost everyone. They were not, it would seem, the knight of flowers and did not stand a chance. When it came to crowning the queen of love and beauty, he made a show of driving his horse part Margaery, remarking that “she shall have a crown for every day of her life, and the white roses are most complimentary to my good-sisters gown”.  
“For sweetest Sansa, the fairest wolf in Westeros!” he remarked with a wink.  
Sansa allowed him to place the flowers in her lap, although she didn’t remove the crown given to her by her brother, she placed the garland around it. She already heard whispers about another Stark maid that was crowned, except this one wasn’t a Stark, she was a Tyrell. By this time, Willas was almost livid, and was certainly pushing for the feast to begin.  
The food had been set up extremely close to the tourney ground so that the guests only had to walk for less than a minute. There was dancing, which the cousins lead and singers who promised to write songs of Sansa’s beauty and maidenly bliss. She ate little, knowing that she’d be under scrutiny and most aware that gluttony was completely unattractive. She drank some, though only for courage. Her husband had the same tactics, speaking very little and only apologising for not being able to dance. By the end of the evening, she’d had enough. The candles had been lit and the sun had finally gone down. She shrugged her marriage cloak around her too keep her warm, knowing that soon, it would happen.  
“Are you enjoying yourself, my Lord?”  
“I have a name, Sansa and I’d be much obliged if you could use it. The day has not been dissatisfactory. I hope it has reached your expectations”  
“Yes, Willas. It’s been an enjoyable occasion, I suppose”  
“Then why are you not smiling?”  
Her reply was cut short due to the lewd cries of “bed them” and “let’s see what the Stark girl has under her pelt”. She was frozen for a moment, before she felt arms lift her from her chair. They tugged at her shoes and stockings, before carrying her to the rest of the crowd. She tried to see anyone that might help. As a girl, she imagined that Robb or her father would rescue her from their wandering hands, but now she realised that there was no one here that would help her. Her husband was in a crowd of women, his doublet hanging open and his curls tussled.  
The tears came when they caught the catch on her shoulders and ripping it out, exposing her breasts. They carried her to her chamber with her wedding gown hanging from her waist and her hair falling out from her net. One man had her over his shoulder like a sack of wheat whilst the others joked and teased her. Before they could get her out of her skirts, they dumped her unceremoniously on the bed, clapping her husband on the back and leaving them too it.  
“They shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry” he said, pouring himself another cup of wine. When he turned to face her, he saw the hunger in his eyes that reminded her of Kings Landing and the bread riots or Joffrey when he stripped and beat her. The only clothing left to him was his under-breeches, which were thin enough to show everything. He took another gulp of wine and laid her on the bed. In anticipation, Sansa closed her eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Willas contemplates his marriage and shares an afternoon with his new spouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one from Willas' POV to show his view on the whole thing. I didn't write the bedding because Sansa did not consent exactly, and it wasn't particularly enjoyable for either parties, and not enjoyable to read or to write. All you need to know, is that it was absolutely diabolical. Thank you for reading etc and tell me if there's anything you particularly want to see. I think that's everything. Sorry it's so short.

The cream sheets were wrapped around Willas’ legs, exposing his shoulder blades to the late morning sun that came streaming in through the window. Willas picked his head out of the pillow and rolled over onto his back, with some difficulty thanks to his leg. Last night, a distant memory now still lay between him and Sansa. The wedding night was not described as it was in the songs and he wasn’t exactly sure how he should fix that, although the wedding itself was what Willas had dreamt of since he was a boy, even if he didn’t exactly love the bride. The inclusion of Brynden Tully surprised him, but the agreed secret alliance would bring peace to them realm and further the Tyrell position.It was clever of Grandmother, to ally with both the Starks and the Lannisters, so that the Tyrell family could eventually have a crown. All they needed was to get rid of the Lannisters in Kings Landing and the scheming and dying would end. His own marriage was of little importance, when you think of the big picture, but Willas knew that it was far from the fairytale ending he dreamt of as a child. Well, he’d said the vows and took Sansa as his wife, there was nothing to be done now. After all, lots of couples have disappointing beddings and are very happy, but hopefully last night would not affect their marriage any further.  
His wife was right at the end of the bed, with the blankets drawn up to her chin and her back to him. She was awake, and she had been for a while, her red hair spilled across the pillow and the curve of her snow-white shoulder poked out from under the blanket. Their wedding finery lay strewn across the grey stone floor, Willas’ doublet included. He swung out of bed, with a grunt of discomfort, and hobbled, naked as his nameday across the room to pick it up. His wife only pulled the sheets over her more and continued to stare out of the glass doors that ran along her side of the bed. They led out to a balcony overlooking the valley, where the servants had laid a table with all sorts of breakfast things. Turning to the pile of clothes that the servants had left out (at his request) he pulled on a pair of white breeches and nothing else.  
Confident in his attire and privacy, he wandered outside, leaning slightly on his cane. There was a circular glass table with fruits and pastries and four chairs. and began to butter a piece of bread. His wife followed his lead, mainly because when he opened the glass doors, he let in some of the morning chill. She joined him, a few minutes later, in a sky blue wrap that went down to her ankles. Willas smiled, as warmly as possible.  
“I quite enjoy breakfasting in my bedclothes Sansa. Perhaps we ought to make a habit of it”  
“As you wish, my lord”  
“My lord is not my name”  
“As you wish, Willas”  
He began their short conversation with a playful grin and ended it in a frown. She did not look up from the orange she was peeling in her lap. Her eyes were red-rimmed. He remembered how she wept last night, when he broke her maidenhead.  
“It will get easier Sansa”  
She nodded and he ran his hands through his hair in frustration.   
“These are good chambers” he began again “Our own bathing room, a study, two solars, a dining room and your own dressing room” he ventured again.  
“Yes, they are much better than the ones in Kings Landing”  
“I don’t imagine that Kings Landing is very impressive, from what Margaery has told me”  
“At first, I loved it. It was the opposite of Winterfell and I thought it was like a song”  
“Will you tell me of Winterfell?”  
She nodded enthusiastically.  
“Well, it was built before the age of heroes, and is one of the oldest castles in Westeros, except perhaps Storm’s End or Pyke. My mother lived in the warmest rooms, as her southern blood never accepted the cold and all the walls were heated by hot springs that flowed through them. There were glass gardens, and a godwood that I used to get lost in as a child, and a library so big that you can’t see to the other side”  
“It sounds wonderful”  
“In the summer, Robb and Jon used to take me to pick flowers outside the castle in the wolfswood, and we’d play at being children of the forest or princesses and noble knights. Sometimes Theon would join in and he’d always be the monster, but he played too rough and would hurt someone, so mother didn’t like him playing with us”  
“I played with Garlan as a boy, and we used to swim in the Mander and pretend to be giant sea creatures. Then Margaery came and we would take it in turns to save the beautiful rose queen from a vicious monster”   
They both chuckled at the memory.   
“Winterfell was a different kind of beautiful than Highgarden. It wasn’t so extravagant, but in the summer, the wildflowers made it the most beautiful place in the world, and in the winter, the snow made in shine like a diamond”  
“Perhaps, when this war is over, we shall visit Winterfell”  
“It won’t be the same. Not after Theon. All my favourite books will be burnt and the godswood, and the rooms where I used to play”  
“I’m truly sorry for the actions of Greyjoy. What he did was unforgivable”  
“Yes” was all his wife said.  
“Do you like to read, Sansa?” Willas asked, glad that they may have something in common.  
“It’s one of my favourite things to do. Mother brought all sorts of books from Riverrun for me and father ordered me lots from the capital. My favourites were poems, although I also liked some of the histories. When they aren’t boring”  
“Well, the next time I visit my mother’s family in Oldtown, I’m sure my grandfather, Lord Leyton will grant you as many books as you desire from the Hightower’s library”  
“That would be wonderful!” It was nice to see her genuinely enthusiastic about something, even if it was just books.  
“Perhaps we could re-establish a library here at Highgarden. I’m afraid literature isn’t one of my father’s main priorities as Lord of the Reach and so the current library has been neglected, but when I inherit, we could rebuild the library into one to rival Oldtown”  
“Perhaps that will be your legacy. Lord Willas Tyrell, the Reader”  
“Better than Willas the cripple”  
There was an awkward silence.  
“I don’t think that a person’s ability to walk affects their worth” Sansa said, carefully. “My brother Bran can’t walk at all, but I don’t love him any less. Garlan, Margaery and Loras don’t love you any less because of your leg”  
“But I love me less”  
She pursed her lips. “Well, you shouldn't”  
He flexed his good leg and inwardly cursed his bad one.  
“I forgot to mention, but I specifically asked for a music room for us. Do you play any instrument?” he asked, attempting to change the subject.  
“In Winterfell, my septa taught me the flute, and some of the harp, although we concentrated on other things. Most northern ladies don’t learn instruments”  
“Then I shall teach you”  
And that was that. They finished their meal and headed to the music room, spending a large part of the day playing assorted instruments in their night clothes. The music room was light and airy. It was just as cool as their bedroom and had all sorts of instruments. He sat sprawled across the new Myrish carpet and he motioned for Sansa to join him. Willas imagined that the family chose not to visit under the assumption that they would be engaging in the activities of regular married couples, and despite the inaccuracy of their insinuation, he was glad of it. His sweet wife sang quite prettily for him and clapped in delight whenever he played for her, making Willas quite content. He was of the opinion that this morning would be awkward, and would result in sullen silence and the relocation of Sansa’s bedchamber somewhere very far away from his, but this was a pleasant surprise. Perhaps this morning wasn’t this ideal first morning of marriage, but he was enjoying himself, and more importantly,so was Sansa.  
It was early afternoon, and they were lying on the little lawn in their private garden. By then, Sansa had changed into a thin linen gown that did little for coverage but cooled her considerably. Their chins were sticky from strawberry juice, and the whiteness of their clothes were stained with patches of red. She looked very beautiful, Willas decided, with her hair undone and stripped of her finery. Her hair, slightly curled but uncombed, tumbled about her like a fiery halo and her lips were red and plump. He wanted to kiss them, and so he did. Only a little tap, of his lips on hers like the beating of a drum, and when he looked at her, she had a little smile, which she tried to disguise by biting her lower lip with her pretty pointed teeth.   
“Oh, Angel” he said with a childish grin and he kissed her again. This time was harder, and she kissed him back, as shyly as only Sansa could. He murmured her name against her lips, and leant over her, their bodies arranged like countless lovers before them. Willas knew that he could spend his life like this, in heavenly summer bliss. His tongue brushed hers, only shyly, and began it’s coy exploration. Their embrace had the passion of an experienced lover, but the demurity of a first kiss between sweethearts. It was their first kiss. Willas did not kiss her last night and for that, he hated himself. He began to touch her, stroking her wrists, trailing up to her face where his left hand cupped her cheek. With his left hand, he took her hand and held it as tightly as comfort allowed. She ran her other forefinger along the tops of his arms, and the offending hand snaked round onto his shoulder where it traced up and down his back, timidly. Willas may have deflowered his wife but she was still as innocent as the maid.  
After the kiss ended and Willas’ presence had left Sansa’s shoulders, they rolled on the grass like children, giggling in giddiness at each other and the grass stains on their once white clothing. They started a child’s game, of guessing shapes in the clouds and rewarding each other with a kiss when they found one. Sansa’s kisses were always much more shy than Willas, who all but scooped her into his arms like some lovers from a song. When the unoppressive joy bubbled into silent satisfaction, Sansa gently laid her head on his golden shoulder, the auburn of her hair shining against his tan skin. Sleep took them there, on their bed of grass and walls of rose bushes, blanketed by the warmth of the sun of a fading summer.


End file.
